


Full Circle

by Tarlan



Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has finally come full circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [周而复始](https://archiveofourown.org/works/589888) by [styx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/styx/pseuds/styx)



> For the LJ smallfandomfest Prompt: Rambo - John Rambo/Col. Samuel Trautman - Code of Honor

In the heat of battle it was all too easy to forget that Trautman had once been his commanding officer and mentor. Instead, John became the very thing he believed he hated most, the killing machine that took orders from no one once in the field, knowing instinctively what he had to do even if that meant disobeying a direct order, and especially if that order went against his personal judgment of the situation. In the field, he was in charge of himself, formulating his own plans, and giving the orders. Afterwards, there was always the illusion of being the perfect soldier once more, of willingly submitting to the commands of a superior officer except, once more he was in a mental quandary. He was no longer part of the military and didn't have to take orders from anyone and yet his every instinct demanded that he give that honor to Trautman.

The problem was that he had ceased to see Samuel Trautman as his commanding officer after the events in Vietnam, freeing the prisoners of war that the US government had forgotten, deliberately or otherwise. Months spent with the monks in Thailand had clarified his thoughts and feelings until he realized that what he felt for Trautman was no longer the loyalty of a soldier under the man's command but something deeper and darker, something that the military actively denounced despite the slight weakening of its standpoint through the Don't Ask, Don't Tell regulations. What he felt for Trautman went beyond student and mentor, or even comrades and brothers-in-arms. What he felt was love.

Nothing had driven away the craving once he knew what he needed; not the hours spent repairing the temple, or even the few bloody, violent minutes stick fighting. Trautman haunted his dreams but not in a safe way. He was not some father figure or any other familial interest. What he felt was desire, an urge to touch and caress a body that still retained much of the lean musculature of a soldier, that was still strong and firm except for a slight softening around the middle from a more sedentary lifestyle than the one they had both led as soldiers together.

So the 'sir' rolled off his tongue with awkwardness as Trautman started up the Jeep that would take them back across the border into Pakistan, leaving Afghanistan and the Mujahideen behind them.

They drove along in silence for a time but John could sense frustration in the man seated beside him. John waited patiently, knowing Trautman would say something eventually and, soon enough, he heard an angry sigh.

"You're not a soldier any more, John. You don't need to call me sir."

"I know."

"Then why, John? Why the change back?"

"Maybe I've come full circle."

"No."

John nodded even though he knew the circle began and ended with Trautman. Perhaps he was no longer the idealistic young man who had come to Trautman to be molded into the perfect soldier, but now he recognized that the very thing he had wanted Trautman to tear out of his soul was the one thing that had survived -- his love for another man -- and not just any man. This man.

Trautman glanced at him quickly before turning his eyes back to the bumpy trail that formed their road back into Pakistan. He knew from experience that they would not be able to make the whole journey back to so-called civilization before nightfall, and he recalled a small set of caves on the border.

"We'll camp at the border."

John gave a half smile, aware from the tiny frown followed by the slight widening of blue eyes that Trautman recalled the place. "Hmm, yes. Good idea."

Several more hours passed by in companionable silence broken only by occasional reminiscences of a joint past, recalling names and places, of deeds done and failures that still caused pain. They avoided talking about those few times when orders went against any code of honor except for being the right thing to do, the right choice to make, neither of them comfortable with everything they had been asked to do for their country. With night fast approaching, they reached the system of caves and stopped, working as a team to produce a campfire and shake out the sleeping pallets given to them by Masoud, the Mujahideen leader. John pulled off his pants carefully and remained still as Trautman checked his injured leg and side, trying not to allow the touch of those warm fingers betray him as Trautman's fingers moved purposefully over his skin. Trautman faced away when it was his turn, pulling away his thin, olive-green t-shirt to reveal the mottled bruises from the beating he had sustained during his captivity. Willing his fingers to remain steady, he glided them over the battered skin, rubbing a salve in to the abused muscle, and lowered his head, eyes shut tight as he resisted the temptation to lean in and place a soft kiss on the nape of the man's neck. It would be so easy and, on most any other man, his kiss might have been mistaken for the press of fingers but not with this man. He finished quickly, silently urging Trautman to turn so he could check his shoulder injury. Trautman froze, and only then did John realize that the man's breathing was slightly erratic. He'd put it down to the pain Trautman was trying to hide but, now, he wasn't so certain. He grasped Trautman's shoulder and tried to turn him, wanting to see his face.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"I..." Trautman cleared his throat. "Don't ask."

Needing to know, John leaned in quickly, arm circling Trautman's waist and dropping into his lap, hearing the soft gasp as his fingers grazed a hard erection. Trautman flinched and tried to stand but John used his greater strength to force the older, weaker man back down, all the fight leaving Trautman when John pushed his palm against the solid mass. Trautman tipped his head back, giving almost silent, open mouthed gasps that were as much mental anguish as physical pleasure, and John leaned in further, pressing his naked chest against the man's back, dropping his own head to satisfy his own craving, tasting the salty flesh of the man's vulnerable neck with soft kisses. His fingers made short work of Trautman's pants, dragging down the zipper and freeing his cock, grasping it firmly and stroking, thumb grazing the pleasure spot under the head, giving a small twist and flick that drew a moan from Trautman.

"I want this," John whispered hoarsely. "I've always wanted this, wanted you."

He felt the reverberation of a sob as Trautman let go of the tension in his body, giving in to the desire, to the want and need. His hand was batted away and John tensed, remaining still as Trautman turned to face him, blue eyes darkened with desire yet narrowed in torment. Trautman reached out and touched John's face, the palm of his hand sliding over rough bristles until the hand cupped the back of his neck. He was momentarily startled when Trautman pulled him in, firm lips meeting his, holding still as if waiting... waiting... until John sighed and relaxed, lips parting in welcome, accepting the deepening kiss, allowing Trautman to push him back until he was lying upon the sleeping pallet with Trautman covering one side of him like a heavy, warm blanket. He welcomed the hand that pushed aside his boxers, freeing his own straining erection, stilling as the desire-dampened cotton was maneuvered over his wounded leg carefully before being discarded, leaving him naked beneath Trautman. Unable to support his weight on his injured shoulder, Trautman wriggled out of his remaining clothing and lowered his body onto John's, cock lined against cock, trapped exquisitely between strong abdominal muscles that rippled as they moved together, kissing deep and hard and dirty as the pleasure built between them, drawing him to the edge and over, mind soaring even as he fell, their release pulsing between their muscled bellies.

Afterwards they lay in silence, listening to the crackle of dry wood burning on the small fire and to the beat of each other's hearts, held in a loose embrace. John wasn't certain what to do now, suddenly afraid for the first time in years, afraid of losing this man and a friendship won on a dozen battlefields.

"I've always wanted this too." He rolled his head deeper into the side of John's neck, warm breath heating John's skin. "Maybe its high time we both got what we wanted... and screw the rest."

John smiled and tightened his grip around the older man, aware that this was not some pretty speech but a declaration of intent to hold onto what they had found in each other. "If you say so...though I'd rather you only screwed me."

A small chuckle and the squeeze of an arm around his chest was his only answer, but it was enough. Perhaps the military saw no honor in two men loving one another but he and Trautman would just have to live by a different code.

THE END


End file.
